Cursed

Chapter One

She didn't mean to kill him. It had been an accident, a terrible one at that but still, in the fight for her life it had been, simply that; an accident. A reaction. Self-defense.

He had charged at her with murder in those cold, distant eyes of his.

Little did twenty-two-year-old Elora know that the man now bloodied and lifeless at her feet had been stalking her for miles. Waiting. He and his twisted old friend— who was nowhere to be found, had stalked the poor woman for a solid twenty minutes undetected; till now.

Elora held the gun— his gun, the gun she had somehow managed to latch her golden fingers around and use against its keeper. They say those that carry a weapon are most likely to have their own weapon used against them.

That had been true for this heap of sweat and blood bundled at her feet.

"Fuck." The other man was nowhere to be seen. The cold, darkened street had been empty and free of all life except theirs— but now, Elora realised, it was just hers.

I need to call Cale. Cale will know what to do.

Elora knew the longer she stood there holding the gun with the man at her feet, the higher the risk she would be seen.

She did the only thing she could think to do. Using the handkerchief hanging from the man's pocket, Elora wiped her prints, and then went ahead to wedge the gun into his blistered, beefy fingers.

"Come on, Elora. You've got this," she announced to the midnight air before pulling out her mobile phone and calling her older brother. If anyone could help her, it would be Cale. It was an accident after all, it was self-defense.

Cale answered after the third ring, figuring if his only sister was calling him at this hour, (knowing that his shifts at the station start dead on six a.m.) it must be important.

"Elora." He greeted not-so-pleasantly. Cale rubbed his stinging eyes, forcing himself to the edge of the broken king size bed to keep from falling back into the land of dreams.

"I need help. Now. It's urgent, it can't wait," Elora panicked. Cale couldn't ignore the nervous shake in her voice if he tried.

"Where are you?"

"St. Claire's avenue, hurry—oh and Cale? Don't bring Sasha with you." Elora hung up her phone before her older brother could ask any more questions.

Cale looked to the sleeping redhead beside him. Sasha hadn't so much as flinched. The only sign of life in Sasha Preston was the slightly rattled snoring, she wouldn't know his absence.

He grabbed his car keys from the bedside and slipped into his fuzzy pink unicorn slippers Elora had brought for him as a joke, but Cale had grown quite fond of them.

Elora felt as though her heart would erupt from her chest at any moment. The worry plummeted through her, her hands still shaky.

I just killed somebody.

That somebody had been somebody's son, possibly a brother or a father—stop, I'm somebodies' daughter, I'm somebody's sister. He had tried to kill me first.

Elora convinced herself it was going to be alright, that Cale would get here soon, and he would help her, he is a police officer after all. Technically she had called the police by calling Cale. He hadn't been in the force long at all, a few months maybe.

Elora was already worried for him. Three months in and he's already been held up at knifepoint six times. His squad car drank a Molotov cocktail once. Cale and his shift partner got lucky, they hadn't been inside or anywhere near at the time.